


The Wyvern

by lee_andrews



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Loghain Mac Tir/Celia mentioned, Loghain Mac Tir/Rowan mentioned, ambiguous romance, angry bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee_andrews/pseuds/lee_andrews
Summary: Morrigan is suspicious of people's intentions, as always. Yet Loghain is an honourable man who wouldn't just abandon the mother of his child. Even if they have no romantic feelings towards each other. Or do they?
Relationships: Loghain Mac Tir/Morrigan
Kudos: 3





	The Wyvern

**Author's Note:**

> Mature for mentions of past sexual intercourse.

Warden Loghain Mac Tir could not resist a stray dog. When a mutt looks at you with its sad puppy eyes, you cannot just cold-heartedly walk past it. At least, not when you are Fereldan and your heart has already been broken in the past by Orlesian bastards who took away your beloved dog. Fortunately, the Wardens had a rather lenient stance on pets.

When Loghain entered his quarters – in a faraway, nearly deserted wing of the Orlesian Wardens’ Headquarters in Montsimmard – carrying a plate of raw meat he snatched from the kitchens, only to find the dog absent and a woman who called herself the Witch of the Wilds sitting in his only chair, it took him about two heartbeats to put two and two together.

“Glad to see you still have nerves of steel”, Morrigan smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Another would have dropped that plate.”

“I must confess I am surprised,” Loghain nodded in acknowledgement of her presence. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I correspond with our friend Cousland. I know that you do as well. I also know that there are people snooping around the forest where my hideout in the Dales lies. I ask myself: who would wander in the wilderness for so long?” Morrigan shrugged her shoulders in a theatrical fashion.

“Hunters? Poachers? Treasure seekers? I can imagine all sorts of vagabonds striding through the woods,” Loghain said non-committally.

“Since when does lying do you any good, Teyrn Mac Tir?” Morrigan said mockingly. “These people are not simple hunters or poachers. Their accent is Fereldan and one of them – I sat on a branch right above him, I saw it all too well – has a handkerchief with the heraldry of a certain ruler-less teyrnir on the shore of the Amaranthine Ocean,” she stood up from the chair and moved towards Loghain, the look on her face accusatory and furious. “You sent your people – and I am surprised you still have people’s loyalty after all you’ve done – to spy on me.”

Loghain looked like he wanted to say something, but it is near impossible to interrupt a monologue of a furious witch.

“I bet you thought I would break my promises, betray the blind trust my only friend has placed in me! The sneaky lying witch cannot be trusted with a life, because she would do anything to succeed in her evil and foul magical rituals. What did you think I had done? Turned my own son into a monster? Oh, but you’ve met Flemeth before, haven’t you?” despite the fact that she was talking herself into a rage, Morrigan was fleetingly glad to see the look of annoyed recollection on Loghain’s face when her mother’s name was mentioned. “I read it in her grimoire. And so of course you would think that I am the same, that my gifts are poisonous and my caring a pretence. But I am nothing like her! I thought we shared something special that night in Redcliffe, a silent understanding of each other's nature and secrets. Yet it seems, you have never trusted me, not even for a second. I have never thought you played the Game, Teyrn,” Morrigan said acidly. The voice of reason in her head was telling her to shut up, that she was making a fool of herself, but for some reason, she just could not stop herself in the midst of this tirade, “for it was some expert seduction on your part. So gentle and considerate. I wonder though… When you kissed my breasts and caressed my skin, who did you think about? When you were inside me, whom did you imagine? Your wife, your second-in-command, or maybe the late Queen Rowan, your best friend’s spouse?!”

When Morrigan saw Loghain’s eyes, she stumbled backwards as if she had touched a fire. The indignity of her absurd accusations and the look of old, almost forgotten pain on the Warden’s face told her everything she needed to know. Ironically, she mentioned Rowan precisely because she did not believe it to have any semblance of truth to it.  
“Oh dear… You did love her,” she was lost for words.

‘Tis too bad witches do not know how to apologise.

“I am compelled to inform you that I did not think of her that night,” Loghain smiled bitterly. “Or any night for the past thirty-odd years, for that matter. She was, as you correctly pointed out, my best friend’s spouse and my queen. I miss Celia, my wife, but she is long gone, as is that part of my life. And second-guessing Ser Cauthrien’s loyalty and professionalism with such base suggestions is beneath you, young lady. You were right, I’ve met Flemeth before and believe me, you are nothing like her. In fact, when you try being her, you become reckless and make a fool of yourself. I’ve noticed it during our travels and it hasn’t changed since then. Which was why I sent some loyal men – and I am surprised I still have people’s loyalty after all I’ve done – to keep an eye on you and the boy once in a while.”

Morrigan felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. She wanted to shake it off her body, just like dogs do. She was, indeed, quite pathetic. If she wanted to go to and survive at the Empress’s court in the near future, she had to do way better than that. She was smart enough to play any games, but at times, she was still a little girl craving for attention. That girl had to die, for her and for Kieran's sake. Morrigan went to the window and opened it, intending to turn into a bird and fly off, for she could not allow herself to be seen here. But there was yet something else she wanted to say.

“The _boy_ is called Kieran and he is worthy of you calling him your son. He is a kinder and nobler soul than both of his parents. As for me, I do not require your protection, Loghain Mac Tir. Tell your people to move on. The wilds are a dangerous place for the unknowing. People might think me a venomous snake…”

“Wyvern,” interjected Loghain.

“… but I will protect Kieran till the last drop… What have you just said?”

“You are not a snake. You are a wyvern. Colourful, strong, deadly, strike fast and are hard to kill. When these damned Orlesians hunt them for sport, I cheer for the wyverns. The sigil of Gwaren has one on it, as you well know,” Loghain smiled.

“Way to compliment a lady,” Morrigan raised one eyebrow and, turning into a raven, disappeared into the night.

***

“A parcel for you, milady,” the servant bowed and reached Morrigan a small soft bundle with no address on it.

“Who gave it to you?”

“He wore a cloak, so I truly cannot say. My sincere apologies, milady. Though, by the sound of his voice, he was a man well past his forties and his accent sounded Fereldan.”

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

When the servant left, Morrigan opened the parcel and found there a pair of exquisite blue gloves of wyvern leather and a small note in a vaguely familiar serrated script: “You seem too easy to find these days, witch.” So Loghain was in Val Royeaux. Interesting.

“Strikes fast, doesn’t she?” murmured Morrigan. She picked up her cloak from the chair and hurried out of the room. It was time to play some catch.


End file.
